


Similitude Sequence Part 1: Something To Make It Okay

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Sophistry, and Jon. Spoilers, 3.10 "Similitude." (04/21/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 2.05 "A Night In Sickbay," 3.10 "Similitude," general Season 3.  
  
This was very difficult to write. I loved "Similitude" because of what it showed about Jon's character, though it didn't show anything particularly good. I was fascinated by the decisions Jon made in this episode and his reasons for making them. It seemed to me that there was more going on than what we got to see, and almost despite myself, I had to write about it. This does not follow the story arc of the rest of my Substitutes for Sustenance series, but I wanted to include it because I felt that the series' theme still worked here. And I promise that Part 2 of this sequence will fall right back in track.  
  
Kageygirl kindly told me this was worth continuing when I wasn't sure. I hope she'll still think so. Kylie Lee kindly went over the rest of it.  


* * *

### 1\. Being A Starship Captain Has Its Moments

When they chose you to be captain of Earth's very first warp-five starship, you had already decided you were taking your dog. After all, this was arguably the most important, most difficult job any human would ever do—lead Earth's first real extrasolar-system explorers, be ambassador to the universe at large. No one was going to tell you it couldn't have a few perks.

Besides, Porthos would be important, you told them; the dog would act as a kind of four-footed morale officer to the crew, not to mention make the captain more approachable, more human. On a ship of eighty-three people and no psychologist, that would be essential. Nothing like a dog to cuddle up with and tell your troubles to when there was no one else around to do the job.

You knew damn well that it was all bullshit, and you knew that Forrest and Soval knew it was bullshit, but you didn't care. You wanted your dog to come with you, and you were going to get your way. Soval gave his usual pinched disapproval and Forrest looked uncertain but considering, but none of it meant anything. They didn't want A. G. Robinson; they didn't want that asshole Duvall, whom they pacified with the _Shenandoah_ ; they wanted Jonathan Archer—you. You figured that letting you take Porthos into space would be the least of their worries, and you were right.

You love that little dog. There was no way you were leaving him behind.

You never regretted it, either. Not once in that first year, not until you made the mistake of taking Porthos on that diplomatic mission to the Kreetassans' home world, and because of your stupidity, he almost died. Even then, you only regretted your complacency with the information the Kreetassans sent you, your lack of foresight to be more stringent with their biological information—the Kreetassans don't have any animals like dogs.

You love that little dog. There was no way you could let him die. You would have done anything.

So when Phlox offered a cure—taking out the pituitary gland from his Calrissian chameleon and transplanting it into Porthos—of course you agreed. You barely even thought about it. You just wanted Porthos to be all right.

Besides, Phlox had brought the chameleon along only for its medicinal properties: its saliva was good against viruses or something. The chameleon wasn't a pet; Phlox didn't care about it the way you cared about Porthos. It wasn't a companion. He didn't love it. He only kept it for what it could do.

And its death was quick and painless—one touch of a hypospray, and it was all over. Most humans didn't get as good a death as that. Most humans weren't so lucky.

That's what you told yourself, anyway, before the operation and during it and after, when you had your puppy back and he was happy and healthy again: Porthos was important, to you, the rest of the crew, everybody. The Calrissian chameleon wasn't. Sometimes you have to make these kinds of sacrifices.

That's what you told yourself. And somehow that made it okay.

### 2\. As Simple As That

Sometimes, it's easy to remember why you still pretty much hate the Vulcans.

T'Pol's damn sanctimonious, self-righteous in that way only the Vulcans have seemed to truly master. Did she really think you weren't aware that the symbiote would be a "living, conscious entity," as she so succinctly put it? Did she think you hadn't paid attention?

She would have let Trip die rather than approve the procedure. You know she would, and you hate her for that—for how she could possibly think ethics were more important than Trip's life.

You explained your reasoning to her, using logic and patience, amazed that it was even necessary. You told her that if you weren't out in the Expanse, maybe your decision would be different. Maybe you'd have the luxury to try something else. Maybe you'd somehow agree that the ethical implications of cloning were serious enough that instead you'd just let Trip die.

But you are in the Expanse, and you have to complete this mission. Earth is depending on you. You told her that: how Earth needs _Enterprise_ , and _Enterprise_ needs Trip. The equation is so fundamental, so _logical_ , that it's inconceivable to you that she couldn't understand.

You're perfectly aware that you've just told Phlox to go ahead and "grow a sentient being for the sole purpose of harvesting tissue," to use more of T'Pol's precise phrasing. You're not an idiot; you know what it means. You know exactly what you've done.

It's not like it was an easy decision.

But what T'Pol doesn't get, what she refuses to accept with that Vulcan "morality" of hers, is that it doesn't matter. Trip is what matters. Trip. Without him, the mission is over. Finished. You can't even imagine going on without him. You might as well rip out the warp core. And if that means making a living, conscious entity to use as a walking organ donor, so be it. You'll live with the consequences.

Trip's life is worth it. Trip is worth anything.

### 3\. Enrique, Stephen, Dennis

Phlox tells you that the crew has been suggesting names for the symbiote. You guess it makes sense, in a way. The creature _looks_ just like a regular human baby, after all. And it—he—will be living with you for the next fifteen days or so. You suppose it only makes sense to give it a name.

You just wish that Phlox wasn't so obviously thrilled about the whole thing, cradling the symbiote and crooning to it as if...as if it were a real baby. It's enough to make you wonder whether Phlox doesn't see this all as some kind of grand experiment, like Trip's dying wasn't just the opportunity he needed to try making his very own clone.

You can't put it past him, either. Phlox is an _alien_ , after all, as much as T'Pol is. It's easy to forget, sometimes, because he's so approachable, so much like everyone else in your crew. He's such a contrast to the infuriating logic of the Vulcan.

But he's not human, and you can't even fathom how he thinks sometimes, what his reasons are for anything he does.

You watch him holding the baby, though, feeding the thing and murmuring about maybe naming it Dennis, and you can't help thinking that he got exactly what he wanted: Trip is lying comatose less than three meters away, but the doctor has a new toy to play with, and that's all he really cares about.

The idea enrages you. It's all you can do to remind yourself that it doesn't matter, that Phlox can play daddy all he wants as long as it means the symbiote will be a proper donor for Trip when the time comes. And Phlox will make sure of that; you know he will. He's never let you down before.

But all the same, you can only force yourself to mutter how you're sure he'll think of something, and leave. You can't get out of there fast enough.

### 4\. Overburn

He was a hell of a lot more tractable as a child, but then you suppose that's typical.

He's enough like Trip now that you almost did a double-take when he walked into your ready room demanding to fly one of the shuttlepods. You almost asked him what he was doing wearing Sim's uniform. You can't stand that, how much he looks like Trip. You hate how you keep wanting to smile at him, before you remember that it's just the clone you're talking to.

He argues like Trip as well, which really pissed you off. Bad enough that he was the only one to come up with the solution to get the ship out of the polaric field—and that angered you in ways you couldn't even really explain to yourself, that the fucking _symbiote_ was going to save all your asses—but then he wants to pilot one of the shuttles, too. Like the fact he had Trip's memories actually meant he could fly. As if he had any kind of claim to Trip's life.

His refusal to give up the argument was a lot like Trip as well, just like that look on his face when he asked you whether you were concerned for his safety, or just the survival of the commander; as if the certain death of everyone on board if the plan failed wasn't as important as protecting his brain.

You hate to admit it, even to yourself, but you almost enjoyed ripping into Sim on that one, reminding him that in six hours, you'd _all_ be dead if his idea wasn't successful. You just couldn't believe he assumed you were only thinking about Trip—that saving Trip was your only reason for keeping Sim out of the shuttlepods. You couldn't believe he'd be so fucking selfish.

So you ripped him a new one, and you almost enjoyed it, except that he looked so hurt afterwards—like you were friends, and he'd expected better from you.

But you're not friends. You don't even know him.

### 5\. Five Hundred Degrees Above Critical

It's funny how the biggest thing about implementing Sim's procedure, between begging _Enterprise_ to move and worrying that the shuttlepods will go up like firecrackers, is how pleased you are that Malcolm asks you for confirmation before increasing the shuttle's overburn ratio by another thirty percent.

It's good to be vindicated, but you happen to glance at Sim just before you tell Malcolm to go ahead, keep risking his and Travis' life, and the shock and hurt on Sim's face is just the same as it was in your ready room, like he can't believe that Malcolm wouldn't trust him, either.

The damn clone is still convinced he's Trip and that everyone should treat him that way. You'd almost feel sorry for him, if it didn't make you so very, very angry.

And there's a part of you, because of it, that's almost sorry when the ship starts moving right before you can call the shuttles in. It's petty, evil, even, but part of you would have enjoyed being able to prove Sim wrong, to watch the shuttlepods blowing up instead of pulling _Enterprise_ to safety. So you could have turned to him and thrown it in his face, proved to him once and for all that he's _not_ Trip—that he's not anyone.

Part of you really wanted him to fail, so you wouldn't have to owe him anything.

### 6\. Whatever Steps Necessary

The last straw, the very last straw, is when you find the son of a bitch in Trip's quarters. He's sitting at Trip's desk, looking at a picture of Trip's family, as if he has some kind of right.

You want to hit him. You ask him what he's doing there, and it takes all your considerable will just to keep your voice controlled. You put the picture back on Trip's shelf so you'll have something to do with your hands, so you won't actually use them to smash that wary expression off his face.

You try to tell yourself that it's not his fault, that he has enough of Trip's memories that these things somehow feel like they belong to him, but you can't. You can't. Trip is dying in sick bay, and nothing Sim remembers or feels or looks like will ever change that.

Trip is the one who matters. Trip is the one you need to have any hope of completing this mission. Trip has to be with you. He has to survive. It's as simple as that: whatever it takes, he has to survive.

Even if it means killing this living, conscious entity whom you have shocked and hurt once again, who feels betrayed, because he still believes that he's Trip, and that you're his friend. But Trip is your friend, and he's dying, and Sim is something you grew in a lab, and God help you, you're going to murder him.

It might have broken your heart once. It might even have horrified you. But that was before the Xindi attacked and Starfleet handed you the weight of the world. That was before you nearly choked a pirate in an airlock, or let your communications officer prostitute herself for coordinates. That was before your best friend broke his head open. It was before you knew what you were capable of, to get what you needed.

It doesn't break your heart anymore. You need to get Trip back. And you will kill Sim for it. You will do anything.

Sometimes you have to make these kinds of sacrifices.

### 7\. Owing Him One

In the end, though, when you find him in the shuttle bay and he tells you that he's willing to die for Lizzie, because she was his sister as much as Trip's, you say you believe him. There's no point in denying him that.

You're in your quarters when Phlox comms you to tell you to come to sick bay. You've just gotten out of the shower, and you're looking at yourself in the mirror as you finish toweling off. You seem thinner than you remember; the bones are showing more sharply under the skin, especially in your face. You don't remember looking quite so old.

Stress, you think. Stress. It's been a very bad several days.

Sim, you know, will be in Trip's quarters, with Porthos. He was very attached to the dog. You figure it's the least you can do.

You go with the symbiote to sick bay as well, because you owe him that much. His death is quick and painless—one touch of a hypospray and it's all over. He looks like he's at peace; you watch him close his eyes.

But before that, his very last words are that this—dying for Trip—is what he was meant to do.

Finally, he understands.


End file.
